RFK Is Falling Down, Falling Down, Falling Down
RFK Is Falling Down, Where Is Fenty?
It's enough to make us wax poetical:
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: One vast and crumbling concrete bowl
Stands on a river. Near it on the asphalt,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is RFK, Stadium of Stadia:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The muddy Anacostia wends away.
